


boy

by bombcollar



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booker made it to the control room, but he was followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boy

**Author's Note:**

> I just knew I'd be writing from the perspective of the Boy of Silence who appears behind Booker.

I did not see him but I heard him. Heard as he crept through the halls. Heard the shrieking of my brothers. Gunfire. And when the gunfire ceased, the crack of metal against bone and flesh.

A part of me is gone. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. I cannot see my hands but I can see beyond the curtains. I can pull myself through. It is my place only to watch, and to warn.

They have put up signs. They are long gone but the signs remain.

“No sin evades his gaze.”

That is not true. Lying is a sin. I do not know what to believe any longer. We cannot see into the minds of men and women. That is for the Lord alone. I am not God. I would not want to be. I am lonely, but God must be lonelier.

He shouts her name in a voice ragged as an old flag, and I follow him. This is an empty place full of men whose minds are half in one world and half in another and I cannot help them, only sit and watch them as they run down like clockwork toys in their gaily painted masks one after another. It is no place for a man like him.

I will tell him. He does not even see me as I follow him to the Warden’s office. I am not supposed to be here, but neither is he. Perhaps he seeks the Lamb, but it is far too late. There is no hope left. We have gathered in the projector room time and time again and heard her words so full of anger and sadness as she spoke of the uselessness of hope, and we took it to heart, perhaps to replace that part of us that was lost. The part that allowed us to pull the curtain aside and peer beneath and see how deeply this world was rotted.

It is only fair. As he watches the monitors, and listens to her voice on the recorder with hands that shake, I wait.


End file.
